31 January 2017

Here is a scene. I'm
in a small town on the Black Sea coast, on summer holidays with Mom.
We are having lunch at a roadside restaurant near the beach. We just
ordered and while waiting I'm thinking what to write on a postcard
for Dad. He is back home working, toiling, through the hottest month,
July. I aim to be funny and write that nothing over here, like our
laundry or hair, ever completely dries out. It's humid over here,
Dad. I capitalize 'humid' to make a point. Also, I add, Georgian food
is the best. I underscore 'the best'. I'm having lobio for
lunch. I'm twelve years-old here; a summer sea breeze tickles my knees.

I caught a cab to
get home. The car moves fast through the late-afternoon traffic. The
driver, whois young, turns on the wipers and checks his phone at
the traffic lights. I think he notices in the rear window that I've
been sobbing.

– Is something
wrong? he asks.

– No, no,
everything is alright.

I really don't want
to be crying, it's involuntary. It could have been worse, this is
probably nothing, stop sobbing, it's embarrassing, I tell to myself.
I underscore 'embarrassing' and highlight 'nothing' in my mind's eye.
It's green and the car jolts and starts moving fast again. It knives
through the rain.

Anthony returns a
call. I phoned him ten minutes ago or something like that to ask for
help.

– What happened?

I came off my bike –
my foot slipped off the wet pedal. I lost control, was on the ground
in an instant. I wince at the image
of my knees hitting the
cobbled road, feel the lines
on my forehead gather into a tense and
busy intersection.I notice a rip in my jeans
sleeve, afew frilly dark threads are
sticking out. I took a taxi
back home, I say, the
steering wheel is badly bent, and the knees are starting to ache like
hell, something similar to when a dentist hits a nerve ending with
his drill. I hang up, the cab
driver asks if I want to go
to the hospital first.

When
I get home, the ice cubes are
ready to go,
wrapped up into the kitchen towels. I
pull off the jeans and sit down on the couch, two cushions under the
knees – to straighten them now is beyond my willpower. In a little
while the ice feels too cold to tolerate, I take a break. I eat the
Georgian bean and walnuts stew that Anthony warmed up for dinner,
amolesili lobio. I
take a spoonful and the mouth is instantly comforted by the rich and
creamy. And in my mind I'm twelve again, sitting at the roadside
Georgian cafe,
writing the postcard for Dad. I
can almost feel the warm
sea breeze too.

Back
in time (USSR) they used to say that Georgian, bold, fresh, spicy,
was the best Russian cuisine. Lobio means
'beans' in Georgian, and there is an infinite number of recipes for
it out there,
from slow-cooked stews to crushed-bean salads. I favor
this version:
it's rich and
earthy, beautifully colored, not quite purple and not quite red,
highly aromatic. Heed the
walnuts here: they enrich the stew and they freshen it too, similar
to a cucumber's job in a stir-fry.

Without
further ado:

100
g toasted walnuts

½
cup olive oil

6
cloves garlic, finely chopped

1
medium carrot, finely chopped

1
large yellow onion, finely chopped

1
small red chile, stemmed, seeded and finely chopped

1
medium leek, finely chopped

2
teaspoons whole coriander seeds

1
teaspoon hot paprika

450
g dried dark red kidney beans, soaked overnight and drained

3
L water (or chicken or vegetable stock)

½
cup finely chopped cilantro

½
cup finely
chopped dill

½
cup finely chopped flat-leaf
parsley

2
Tablespoons red wine vinegar

Salt
and black pepper, to taste

Place
the
walnuts and half the olive oil in a food processor. Puree until very
smooth, about 2 minutes, and set aside.

Heat
the remaining oil in a large heavy-bottom saucepan over a
medium heat. Add the garlic,
carrots, onions, chile, and leek. Cook, stirring occasionally, until
golden, about 10 minutes. Add the coriander seeds and paprika, and
cook until fragrant, about 1 minute.

Add
the beans and water, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to a bare
simmer and cook, uncovered, until the beans are very tender and the
cooking liquid has reduced enough
to cover the beans by a
fingertip, about 2 – 2 ½ hours Using a ladle, transfer half of the
beans to a blender. Puree until smooth and return to the pot. Stir in
the walnut puree, cilantro, dill, parsley, vinegar, salt, and pepper.
Serve with country-style bread on the side.

A few words

Hello, I am Anya Sokha (32). I am Russian, and Amsterdam, the Netherlands is my current home. Here I have been busying myself with various things, such as getting a master’s degree in English linguistics (finished!); being a bread baker (an apprentice before, and a dish-washer before that) in a French-style bakery; and figuring out where I should go next.

Godful Food has nothing to do with church and such. I made the word 'godful' up to show that food and writing are my religion. I was trying to be clever or something.